Test cases, for so long a mythical luxury, have become a
meaningful possibility. I pound out a command-prompt test
harness, and the rest of the team sets about supplying the
oxen. The server winds up crumpling under the repeated
no-op baseline case, and it's back into the mines for me and
Glenn, but the whiff of fresh air is invigorating, and besides,
I'm floating anyway. Metaphor speaks too strongly to me; I
settle on Chester as my test case for Irene. I tell him about
this plan when I give him his evening dish of food; he responds
with a flick of the tail. I think this is assent; it can be
hard to tell with cats sometimes. Then she calls, to make
more specific plans of our vauge tentativities, and wonder if
I should bribe Chester with double rations, or perhaps
surreptitiously rub Irene with catnip, just to make double-sure
she doesn't fail the test.

When faced with this intruder in our private turf, Chester's first
response is to hide his fuzzy mouse toy under a chair, followed by
a purred consent to ear scratching, followed by a return to his
usual catlike disdain. Cats, she says, with a shrug,
then pokes me in the arm and we head out, leaving Chester to his
own devices.
On our way out of the theatre, we discover that her car won't start.
A towing service proves unnecessary, as a kindly fellow with a
pickup gives us a jump, along with a glowing recommendation for
the church he attends. Irene tells him, with completely
straight face, that's she's an ordained minister. Universal
Life Church, she says, and of course, she really is,
as she's dropping me off, she shows me the card she printed out
off the web page and had laminated. At this, I kiss her. For
the lamination, I explain when we pull apart, she laughs and
it's the most astonishing sudden burst of joy, sunbeams
through stormclouds.

We don't have a water cooler at work, there is no forum for such things,
I call my sister and tell her, but a string class is a string class
no matter how happy you are, and Matt's nerves are frayed and
everyone is short with everyone else. Share and enjoy, I pull the boathorn
out of my desk at half past six and once I have the undivided attention
of the room, I order the team to dinner. I have the boathorn, so they obey.
It's beer and burgers and baseball games with no sound at Champions for everyone,
like it or not, but they like it just fine, even Glenn who's a vegetarian.
Andy is resistant, but I manage to land a beer in front of him, he starts sipping it
and stops twitching. We play a shamefully incompetent game of darts,
and then the crowd hauls itself contentedly back to the office. Tom and Matt
disappear down the hallway to their cubes, bickering over the protocol handler's
interface like a married couple, and Glenn suggests we all play Frisbee on the
weekend, if we make it to the weekend, and Andy says thank you, it's good
to feel part of a group you want to feel part of like this and is hunched
at his keyboard with his ears between his knees, oblivious to the outside
world, before I can parse his sentence. Time to start making some large
charitable donations, I think, because I must have used up a whole
hell of a lot of karma the last few days.